


wake me up, before you

by sarcangel



Series: lame superheroes au [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Ramadan, lame superheroes au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:11:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcangel/pseuds/sarcangel
Summary: zayn and louis tackle ramadan





	wake me up, before you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PigSlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PigSlay/gifts).



> thanks to anna for the tumblr prompt <3
> 
> warning: may cause cavities, follow immediately with fluoride rinse
> 
> anyway this takes place almost exactly a year after 'all the stars were crashing'

“I think I’m dying. I can feel the strength leaching from my body, Zayn, I’m not kidding.” Louis’ voice carries him into the sitting room. He flings himself down on the sofa, head flopping against Zayn’s shoulder, before perking back up. “Oh, hi, Trisha. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nonsense, love,” she laughs quietly, her face pixelating on the screen for a moment before settling back into its familiar, smooth lines. “Not going as easy as you’d hoped?”

“I woke him up at five for Sehri. It was a full fry up, he’s got nothing to complain about,” Zayn says. Louis sighs so deeply it moves his whole body, pressing him even further against Zayn’s side.

It’s a lazy Tuesday afternoon, one of those dull April days where it seems like the world will drown in its quest to come back to life. They’ve had nothing to distract themselves from the yawning hunger and thirst of the first fast day of Ramadan; mum called in the nick of time, before Louis could actually start gnawing his own hand off.

“Shhh, mesaharati,” Trisha says. “I give you three days until the desperate texts start. _What does chicken taste like, mum, I can’t remember._ What was it last year, again? Oh, yes -”

“Don’t -” Zayn says, uselessly trying to cover the phone with his hand. Louis gets it away from him after a brief scuffle.

“No, do. By all means, tell me everything.” Over Louis’ shoulder, he can see his mum scrolling through her own phone. A massive smile splits her face when she finds what she’s looking for. He buries his face in Louis’ back; somehow, not seeing makes it better.

“Here we go. Fifteenth of April. _Ice chips are not technically liquid. Please advise. Don’t tell Safaa._ Twentieth of April. _I can’t feel my legs. I don’t want to die this way._ First of May. _Are you sure that smoke includes cigarettes? Please advise._ Fifth of May. _I just mistook my phone for a giant biscuit. Send help. Don’t tell Safaa._ Fourteenth of May -” her smile turns soft, quieting Louis’ laughter. “Fourteenth of May. _I met someone. Call me._ ”

“Oh,” Louis says, trying to twist around. Zayn lays heavily against his back, keeping him in place. “That was me.”

“That was you,” Zayn agrees. “Now give me back the phone.” He sits up, releasing Louis, who spins around so fast they almost bash skulls. Louis smiles wickedly, wiggling the phone in the air.

“I won’t. Here you’ve been subjecting me to your fake encouragement, and it turns out to be lies, all lies. Trisha, is there something about lying during Ramadan?”

Zayn groans; but before she can respond, the oven timer goes off. Finally, luck is on his side.

“More on that in a moment,” Louis says, surrendering the phone. He disappears into the kitchen. Trisha’s half-smiling, searching Zayn’s face from the tiny rectangular screen.

“What?” he asks, though he knows already what she’s going to say.

“You look happy, Z-ball,” she says.

“I am.” And it’s true - it’s always true, but it bursts out of him, all of a sudden, a nuclear fucking wave of happiness so strong he’s worried that the roof will blow off the building. Something clatters in the kitchen, and he snaps it back in, like smoke in reverse.

“Does Louis know that?”

“Think so.” Beneath her x-ray gaze, he can feel the heat creeping up his face.

And then Louis himself is there, lifting the phone out of Zayn’s loose grip. “Excuse us for one second, please,” he says, primly, and sets her face-down on the coffee table.

Louis cups his jaw with both hands, and it makes his stomach jump, sometimes, still; the firm pressure of his mouth, the way their breath blends together, the brief sweep of Louis’ tongue before he draws back.

Louis grabs the phone again, flashing a brilliant smile at Trisha. “I’m happy, too,” he says. “Even if I die before this roast is finished. Even if I never get to taste it, even if I’ve withered away to a husk of my former self -”

“At least you died happy,” Trisha snorts.

“Exactly,” Louis winks. “Text me in three days, though. The story may change.”


End file.
